Yes, but I think if you look at it with a sort of gay

The words of John Schlesinger — “Yes, but I think if you look at it with a sort of gay sensibility and want everything to be positive about gay life, it could be interpreted as antigay.” — are the meditation of an artist who understood both the power and peril of representation. He speaks of the tension between truth and ideal, between portraying life as it is and life as one wishes it to be. For every community longs for positive depictions, yet life itself carries shadows, and to reveal them honestly may sometimes be mistaken for betrayal.

Schlesinger, whose works broke boundaries in cinema, knew that art is a mirror — and mirrors do not flatter, they reflect. To look at a story with gay sensibility is to see it through the eyes of a people long wounded by caricature and silence. To long for only positive images is to seek healing, dignity, and affirmation. Yet he warns that when art strays too far from truth, even the attempt to uplift can seem hollow, and the darker struggles, if shown, may be misread as condemnation rather than honesty.

History reveals this paradox often. Consider the plays of Sophocles, who portrayed kings not only in triumph but also in ruin. Oedipus, though noble, was brought low by fate, and Antigone, though heroic, met death for her defiance. To some, such portrayals might seem dishonor to rulers or families, yet the Greeks knew that tragedy unveiled deeper truths. So too with depictions of gay life: to show only joy would deny the reality of struggle, but to show only pain risks reinforcing prejudice. The balance is delicate, yet essential.

What Schlesinger names as “antigay” is not hatred in intent, but the danger of misinterpretation. A film or story that reveals suffering may be seen by outsiders as proof of inferiority, even when its true purpose is to illuminate resilience. Thus the artist bears a double burden: to tell the truth without giving weapons to the enemy, to craft images that dignify even in sorrow. This is the crucible of representation, where honesty and hope must contend.

Let the generations remember: the pursuit of truth is never simple, and art that seeks to honor must also risk being misunderstood. The task is not to hide flaws but to reveal them in the light of humanity, showing that dignity persists even in brokenness. Schlesinger’s words remind us that positive images alone cannot capture the fullness of life, nor can shadows erase the radiance of love. To tell the story of any people is to weave both joy and sorrow, so that the tapestry reflects not fantasy, but truth.